Sanctuary
by ringanybells
Summary: Mary heads over to Raphael's place after a long night at work, but things don't go as she thought they would. M/M.


[A/N: This is set early season two, before the whole proposal fiasco.]

Mary slowly came to. She opened her eyes, but found that her vision was swimming. She closed them again, hoping to hold off the wave of nausea. She waited a beat and then tried opening them. This time, there was no double vision and the objects in the room remained stationary. She lifted her head, trying to figure out where she was and why exactly she was laying on the floor. She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but a sharp pain radiated from her wrist.

She looked at it. Her right wrist was slightly swollen. Using her other hand, she took hold of the sink and pulled herself into a standing position. A sharp gasp escaped as she stood, a jabbing pain emanating from her right side. It felt as though she had been hit by a truck. On top of that, her right cheek was also sore and it felt like it was on fire. She tried to clear her head, attempting to remember what happened. The events slowly began to come back to her…

_It was a little after 11 o'clock. She was exhausted and didn't feel like dealing with her family. So, after leaving the office, instead of returning to her own home, she'd decided to spend the night at Raphael's. All she had wanted was a decent night's sleep. She had entered his front door, come down the stairs, and deposited her bag on the table. Raph had stood up upon her entry. He had that look in his eyes, the one that said 'thank God you showed up, I really wanted to have sex.' She, however, did not, so she cut him off at the knees. "Raph, I'm exhausted. I just want to curl up in bed and sleep for the next seven hours." She walked right by him, moving toward the bathroom, to wash her face, but he came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him._

"_How come whenever you want to have sex, we do. But when I want to, it's no?"_

"_Raph, I've been at work for fourteen hours. I can barely stand. There's no way I'm having sex with you tonight." _

"_But this is what we do. We have sex. Remember? That's what you told me. Well, come on and let's do it."_

_Mary had had enough. She was not in the mood. "I said no." She began to turn away, and that's when it happened. His hand came from out of nowhere. A savage backhand to her right cheek sent her spinning into the wall. The return swing she launched was instinctual. He was anticipating it, however. He grabbed her wrist and slammed it backward, crushing it against the wall. A small yelp of pain escaped her. Before she could recover, his hand flew again, harder. The blow landed in the same place. Once again, the force moved her backward. She felt her forehead collide with the bathroom door, felt it fly open, felt herself lose balance. She didn't even feel the collision between her right side and his metal tub because she was already unconscious. _

Mary winced. She had been beaten up by her boyfriend. _Great, that's just what I needed, to add domestic violence to my lengthening list of things I've been a victim of._ She listened carefully and could hear Raph snoring in the other room. She checked her watch, it was past 2. She'd been out for almost three hours, and he had just left her there. Knowing that if she woke him up and he decided he wanted to go another round that she would lose, she quickly snuck out of the bathroom and past the bedroom door. On her way through his kitchen, she grabbed her purse with her left hand and headed for the door. Once she had the thick front door between her and her former not boyfriend, she stopped. She allowed several shallow breaths to come. She'd practically sprinted out of his house, and up the stairs, and she could feel pain radiating in her ribs. There was a good chance she'd broken them.

She considered her options for a moment. If she went home, odds were her mother or sister would still be up. She really didn't want to deal with either of them. And if she went home without seeking some kind of medical attention, she risked allowing her wrist to heal improperly. Going to the hospital would mean paper work and nosey nurses. And they would push her to file a complaint against Raph, which he deserved. But she'd been kidnapped less than two months ago, how pathetic would she look if she filed a domestic dispute against her pansy ball playing boyfriend, who coincidently didn't have a scratch on him. Nope, not going to happen. So she decided on the next best thing to a hospital, her partner's house.

Marshall was a wiz, and he spent a lot of his off time learning helpful things like how to set broken bones and how to insert tubes into bullet wounds. He'd played doctor to her patient on more than one occasion, when she had been too stubborn, or tired, to go to a real hospital. He would help her.

She slowly made her way to her car, walking carefully so as not to jar her ribs any more than necessary. Once safely behind the wheel, she briefly considered taking her gun and teaching Raph a lesson, but she knew that too would result in a bunch of paperwork, not to mention a probable suspension; they might even try and charge her with attempted murder. So instead of teaching Raph a much needed lesson, she put the car in drive and headed over to her sanctuary.

She pulled up in front of Marshall's house. And it was there that her courage failed her briefly. Marshall was her best friend. Showing up to his house injured would lead to questions, and he would almost positively demand the answers. But then again, maybe he would just let it go. Sometimes he knew when to push her and when to accept her silence. And to be honest, right now she needed to see someone who was on her side, and just wanted to help her, someone who made no demands and had no expectations of her. The kind of person who could just let her be, without pushing her, which is what Marshall always was, without fail.

She exited her car and slowly made her way up his walk. She frowned at his front steps before mounting them. Staring at his door, she felt her nerve waiver once again. It wasn't fair to wake him in the middle of the night like this. Of course, he'd be angrier knowing she had stood here and not woken him. She raised her right hand to knock, forgetting about the injury, and let out a small cry of pain. She brought her wrist in and cradled it to her chest. She then tried again, three quiet knocks, with her left hand this time.

A few moments passed. Marshall's bedroom was upstairs toward the back part of the house, he probably hadn't heard. Hating herself for doing this, she once again raised her hand. Before she could knock, though, the door was pulled open. There stood her partner, clad in sweatpants and a tee, rubbing his eyes, which were cast down toward her feet. He hadn't bothered to ask who it was, only she would show up at this hour, knocking.

His gaze slowly travelled up her body, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "You better have a good reason for showing up here at this…" His gaze had reached her swollen wrist, cradled to her chest. Upon seeing the injury, his eyes immediately shot to her face. His sharp intake of breath was all she needed to confirm that her face must look like hell. She slowly lowered her arm, and waited for the questions she knew would come. But they didn't. He simply moved aside. "I guess you do. Go wait in the kitchen. I'll be right there."

Thankful that he had not berated her with questions, she moved into the house and slowly walked toward the kitchen. He watched her for a moment, before turning the other way and disappearing down the hall and into the bathroom to fetch his first aid kit, complete with disinfectant and bandages. Then he followed her steps to the kitchen. She was sitting at the table. He placed the supplies in front of the seat next to her and walked to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of water and watched as she took it with her left hand. He noted her right wrist was still cradled against her chest and in the kitchen light, he could tell that it was an unhealthy shade of red.

While she tentatively took a few sips of water, he walked over to one of his cabinets. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. Turning back to his partner, seeing the bruising and cuts on her face, he turned back and got a second glass. He was going to need some liquor as well if he was going to hear any story that involved that happening to his partner's face. He brought the two glasses and the bottle over to the table. He quickly filled both glasses and set one in front of Mary.

She looked up as the shot was placed in her field of vision. Marshall knew her well. "You're my hero, Marshall." She hoped he would understand the various layers of that declaration as she threw back the shot, wincing as she overextended just a little too much. The pain in her ribs flared from the throbbing ache it had been since she sat to a pulsing burn. She set the glass down again and Marshall refilled it before sitting down in front of her. She took the second shot, careful this time not to overdue her actions.

Marshall watched his partner. He saw the pain pass over her face as she took the shot, and realized there must be more damage than was currently visible. He'd have to deal with that later. Right now the most important thing was her wrist. He held his hand out for it. She gingerly extended her arm. His hands were gentle. "Did you hear it break?" His question was not probing for answers, merely trying to determine the nature of the injury. Mary thought for a moment, trying to remember back to the fight, which was somewhat hazy.

"I'm not sure."

"You know what that means, right?"

She did. It meant he was going to have to feel for the break , see if it was there. This wasn't the first time that Marshall had been enlisted as the medic. He'd done this half a dozen times, on her, on himself, even on a witness once. He had to determine if the bone was broken, fractured, or simply sprained. He was amazing at it. Of the six times he'd probed an injury, he'd yet to be wrong. The only problem was that when he examined the area, it hurt like a bitch. He had to rotate the joint and apply pressure, to try and feel the bone itself. When it was the only injury you had, it hurt. She was pretty sure that on top of her burning side, it was going to be sheer agony. So she took a moment to plant her feet solidly on the floor and her back firmly against the chair. If she was rooted, then she wouldn't be able to jerk away. If she could stay relatively still, she could keep the pain down to a manageable amount. When she was ready she gave a tiny nod, her eyes locked on his face, his locked intently on her wrist.

As he slowly tested her wrist, she watched his face. Each time the pain got the better of her and she let out a tiny noise, she could see him wince. He hated adding to her pain. After being beaten by her boyfriend, that level of compassion actually helped to soothe her a little. After several long minutes, he stopped. "I don't think it's broken. It might be a fracture, though." He gently wrapped an ACE bandage around it, to lessen the blood flow, and eventually reduce the swelling.

He then picked up a cotton ball and reached for the bottle of antiseptic. "Whoa, wait a minute. What's that for?" Mary hated the burn that came when cleaning wounds. It was childish, but she wanted to avoid as much additional pain as possible tonight.

"For the cuts, I need to clean them." Marshall said matter-of-factly, as if it should have been obvious to her.

"What cuts?"

"Have you looked in a mirror, Mare?"

"No. What cuts?"

Marshall slowly shook his head. She could be so ridiculous sometimes. He raised his hand and gently ran it under the cut in her forehead, "Well, there's this two inch gash here," and then he moved his hand to cradle her right cheek, careful not to touch the open wound there, "and your cheek is split open here. The sooner they're cleaned and bandaged, the better. Don't want scars marring that pretty face." He was trying to cheer her up, but neither smiled at his remark. There was nothing funny about a woman with a battered face, and in Marshall's book, when the woman was his partner, it was the opposite of funny.

"Oh, okay," Mary surrendered to his administrations. Letting her eyes drift close as he gently cleaned the cut on her forehead.

As he tended to his partner, Marshall's mind was in overdrive. He wanted answers, but he didn't need Mary's words to get them. Since Mary had come to him, and there had been no warning from Stan, whatever had happened to her had nothing to do with her job. She wasn't foolish enough to try and protect a witness on her own, not without at the very least telling himself or Stan. And Stan rarely, if ever, let her go in to potentially dangerous situations alone. So whatever had happened, happened off the clock. That narrowed the list of suspects considerably. There was no sign of offensive or even defensive wounds, so whoever had attacked her had caught her unawares. That left strangers and people she trusted. If it had been a stranger, Mary would have called him from the hospital, not shown up at his front door. And since Mary's family, Brandi and Jinx, were the kind of family that dealt in emotional scars, not physical, they were out. That left the three men in Mary's life. Since he knew he wasn't the guilty party, and he knew that, even if Stan could raise a hand to Mary, she'd be able to kill him with a look, it left her Dominican Romeo.

He put the cotton ball down and blew gently on the area to dry it. He watched the shiver pass down her body. As he placed the butterfly stitch on her forehead, he caught the wince of pain she tried so hard to hide. For a second, his anger got the better of him. He loved his partner, in a lot of ways. She was his best friend, the person he counted on to have his back, carte blanche, no matter what. But more than that, he was quite actually _in_ love with her. Seeing her like this, knowing that jackass Raphael had done this to her, it tore his heart.

After a moment without contact with Marshall, Mary forced her eyes open. He was still sitting there, but he was just staring at her. She could see it in his eyes, the knowledge. He knew, or had a pretty fare guess at the very least, what had happened. But she really didn't want to talk about it. "Please, Marshall, just… don't?"

It wasn't her words that stopped him, it was her tone. That tone was weak, and pleading. It was nothing like the assured, commanding tone that Mary usually used. Whatever had happened had really taken it out of Mary. For that reason, Marshall swallowed his questions.

Mary felt the relief wash through her as she literally watched her partner bite his tongue. She knew it was a lot to ask. Making him sit here and dress her wounds with no explanation, but she wasn't ready to think about it yet. Marshall picked up a new cotton ball and soaked it in cleaner. Cradling her cheek with one hand, he deftly wiped the cut clean. She couldn't stop the wince that came out. "I'm sorry." Marshall's tender apology was quiet.

"It's okay, I just wasn't ready." They lapsed into silence again as he finished and once again blew quickly on her cheek to dry it. He put the butterfly strip on and poured another shot of vodka for each of them. He threw his back quickly and stood to throw out the trash. She relaxed her pose in the chair thinking they were done.

As Marshall turned back from the trash, he issued a quiet, but firm order. "Take off your shirt."

For a moment, Mary froze. She had no idea what the command meant. Never in a million years would Marshall try anything like Raph had, but why else would he tell her to disrobe? "Why?" The question came out in a strangled tone, making her sound even weaker than she already looked.

Anger coursed through Marshall at Mary's reaction. Whatever Raph had done to his partner had greatly reduced her already shaky trust in others. Marshall tried his hardest to hide his anger at Mary's boyfriend, the important thing now was to figure out the extent of Mary's injuries. "You're favoring your right side, and it looks like you might be having a little trouble breathing, it's painful at the very least. I need to see the damage."

Mary considered for a moment. She could refuse, in which case Marshall would ignore her and remove the shirt anyway. He'd do it gently but if she fought him, it would hurt. It was his job to make sure no one hurt her, including herself. Eventually, he would see. So she could give up later, or give in now.

As he sat down across from her once again, she chose the easier of the two options. She reached up with both hands to undo her blouse buttons, and winced, "Slight bump in your plan, doofus."

He felt like an idiot, he had just wrapped that wrist, he should have known better. "Sorry. Here I'll do it."

He tentatively reached out, expecting her to smack his hand away, but she didn't. He undid the buttons on the blouse and then stood up to help her remove it. He eased it gently over her right wrist and allowed her to shake it off her left arm. Hating herself for showing weakness, she gently raised her arms, so that he could pull her tank top off. Once again, she could not stop the gasp of pain as she raised her arm too far. The last thing she saw before her head disappeared into her shirt, was Marshall's face, pain etched into every groove, not his own, but hers.

When the shirt was over her head though, the look of pain had vanished, replaced instead by a look of pure rage. She figured her side must look worse than she imagined. A quick glance down revealed that she was right. A large portion of her right side was tie-dyed, a mixture of blues and purples, all entwined together. No wonder she was in excruciating pain.

She watched as Marshall crumbled the tank top in his hand and threw it onto the table. His gaze was still locked on her midriff. If it hadn't been for the pain in her wrist, and the larger pain in her ribs, she would have crossed her arms to hide the bruising. She moved her gaze to his face and saw the leash snap a moment before the words came.

"That's it. I can't hold my tongue any longer."

"Marshall, please, I'm begging you," She began her plea only to be cut off by him.

"That's what I'm talking about. You don't beg. Mary, I can't say nothing. A sprained wrist? I can handle that, you've done worse to yourself in my company before, so it's nothing new. Your battered face? I really hate that one, but you asked me to leave it alone, so I can. But this? Mare, you look like a Smurf. I can't say for sure, but I'd bet good money that you have at least two cracked ribs, maybe more. What the hell did he do to you?"

She was caught off guard. She had been expecting him to ask who had done it, or what happened, she hadn't expected him to know who it was. "What do you mean 'he'?"

"Please, Mare, I'm not an idiot. There are only two people who could get close enough to you to do this kind of damage without you kicking their ass first. I'm one of them, the ball player is the other. Raphael did this to you. Now please, tell me what happened."

She thought for just a second to refuse, but she owed Marshall an explanation. "I went to his place after I left the office, I didn't feel like dealing with Jinx or Brandi. He wanted to have sex. I didn't. He swung and when I swung back, he crushed my wrist to the wall." She had to stop to take a breath. She wasn't sure which was worse, reliving the fight once again in her own head or watching Marshall's face as she retold the story. "His second backhand sent me into the bathroom door. The last thing I remember is hitting that door. I guess the force of the blow must have sent me into the bathroom. That's where I woke up anyway."

"Where you woke up?" She watched the pain cross over his face. She wondered briefly if it was because she had been unconscious or because she had failed to mention that earlier. His tone when he spoke again was strained, "When did you wake up?"

"About fifteen minutes before I got here. I came right over from Raph's." She couldn't read the look that passed over his face at that statement. "I'm guessing that I hit the tub on my way down, which explains the ribs."

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I want to take you to the hospital."

"Marshall, hospitals ask questions. I just want to be done with all this."

"Mare, I can't tell if your ribs are broken, and if I try to see, I could hurt you even more." He took a deep breath before stating his next reason. "And if you were unconscious, then it's possible you have a concussion. But I can't say for sure."

"Marshall, if we go to a hospital, then they're going to have questions. And they're nowhere near as gentle as you. I really just want to crawl into a nice safe bed and sleep. Please, Marshall?"

"I can't let you go to sleep, if you have a concussion, sleep is a bad idea." He felt for his partner. He'd been on his feet as long as she had been yesterday. If anyone else but Mary had shown up on his doorstep, he would have turned them away. "Are you going to file a report against him?"

She hadn't really thought about it. "Marshall, I was just kidnapped by two low level thugs. They held me captive and nearly raped me. What kind of marshal allows that to happen? What kind of marshal gets battered by her boyfriend?"

"Mary, neither of those things say anything about you as a marshal. They say that you're a strong woman to have survived those kinds of things. They say that you must be incredibly dedicated to your job if you can go through things like that and you still keep your badge, willing to face more possibly damaging situations. But you can't let him get away with this just because you think it makes you look weak. It's the weak woman who holds her tongue and lets this occur. It takes strength to admit you couldn't stop him."

He saw the anger flash in her eyes. He also saw her rise to the challenge. "Fine, I'll file the report."

He handed her his phone. "You can call Bobby D. on the way to the hospital."

If anyone besides Marshall had tried something like that, she probably would have dropped them on their ass. But in her heart she knew Marshall was right. So she reached her hand out and took the phone. But before she could open it and dial, Marshall took it back. "Maybe you should put your shirt back on first." She looked down, just now noticing that her shirt was in fact still crumbled on the table where Marshall had thrown it. He picked it up and held it up for her. She raised her hands once again and he gently slid it down her arms. "I think I have a sweatshirt you can put on over that. I'll be right back." She slowly relaxed in the chair while she waited for him to return. This is not what she had wanted from her evening when she pulled away from the office earlier.

Marshall walked up the stairs and into his room. He grabbed a zip-up hoodie out of his closet and put it on his bed. He then sat down next to it, his head falling into his hands. It had been hard to look Mary in the eye as he'd dressed her wounds. He'd wanted so badly to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay and that she hadn't deserved this. He knew she would never accept that comfort from him, but that didn't stop his desire to provide it. The problem, though, was that more than he wanted to comfort his partner, he wanted to kill her boyfriend.

Who the hell did he think he was? What made him think he could force Mary to do anything? After all that she had been through in the last few weeks, this was the last thing she needed. Once he made sure that Mary was okay, and after he had talked to the doctor to be sure of that fact, he was going to pay the baseball player a visit. Knowing that Mary was downstairs waiting for him, he quickly composed himself and made his way back to the kitchen.

When he walked in, he found her still sitting at the table. Her head was against the back of the chair and her eyes were closed. He desperately wanted to let her be, to take her upstairs and let her sleep. But he was afraid that she had a concussion. And he knew she should see a doctor about those ribs. Plus, he knew that if she didn't file the report now, then she wouldn't, ever. So he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, calling her back to the real world.

She slowly lifted her head and blinked. She was exhausted, and in pain. Marshall held out a hand. She looked at it for a moment, fighting the need to accept his help. But they both knew that she needed the help up, and she reluctantly reached out and grasped his hand. He supported her as she stood. He then held out the hoodie, allowing her to slip her left arm into the sleeve and then draping the rest over her right shoulder. Her eyes were downcast, he place a hand under her chin and lifted her face so that she was looking at him. "It's going to be alright, I won't leave your side the whole time."

He said the words more for himself then for her, but he saw the gratitude shine in her eyes, read it in the way she briefly allowed her guard to fall. Her shoulders slumped and she allowed her head to fall, laying the left side of her face against his chin. He moved his arm around her and held her close, just for a moment. When he felt her lift her head, he reluctantly dropped his arm. "Okay, doofus, that's enough. If you coddle me any more tonight, I might puke."

He smiled, happy to hear a bit of bite back in her voice. Instead of responding with one of his usual retorts, he reached out and turned her face back to his once again. "I would never dream of coddling you."

Her answering smile was not the same as it would have been yesterday, her split cheek prevented that. But he could see a little of the old Mary back in her eyes.

He allowed her to step by him, following her out of the kitchen. They walked out the front door, Marshall pulling it closed. When he turned around he nearly ran into his partner. She was standing at the top of his steps, staring down at the offending stairs. "I hate you." He wasn't sure if she was talking to him or his stairs, so he kept his mouth shut as he watched her slowly descend. He allowed himself a small smile as she walked to the passenger side of his SUV, instead of the driver's side of her own car.

"You only get to drive because I can't pull myself into the car with my right wrist. So wipe that smirk off your face, now." She slid into the car and threw a look at her partner. The smirk was still there, along with a certain look of pride that she recognized from the night he rescued her from the basement. He was proud of her. She wasn't sure exactly why, but knowing that he was assured her that whatever happened as a result of tonight, he would stand by her. As long as that was true, she could stomach whatever else was coming. He started the car, but before he put it in reverse, he held out his phone.

She took the phone and dialed as he pulled out of the driveway and headed toward Albuquerque General. Detective Dershawitz answered on the fourth ring. "I usually prefer to be the one calling you. And I never recall being so inconsiderate as to do it at this time of the morning." She could hear the sleep in his voice. She hated herself for pulling him from his rest as well.

"Yea, I know. I'm sorry about the time, Bobby."

He must have heard something in her voice, because he became all business. "What's up, Mary?"

She tried to keep her voice even, tried not to betray the pain and shame she was feeling. Marshall's presence at her side helped. "I need to report a crime."

"That's what 911 is for." He took a moment. He checked his tone, if Mary was calling him in the middle of the night, then she had a good reason. "Was the victim one of yours?"

Mary took a deep breath. This was the hard part, telling yet another person about what had happened to her. She could feel Marshall's eyes on her. It gave her strength, to know he would stand behind her, or beside her, no matter what. "It was me."

Bobby D., veteran cop and homicide detective was momentarily speechless. He knew exactly what he had just heard. But how was it possible? How could one woman be such a danger magnet? It seemed like just yesterday he was finding her cell phone in an alley. "What?"

"You heard what I said, Dershawitz." Her tone assured him that she was alright. "Can you just meet me?"

"Of course, where are you?"

"I'm on my way to the hospital."

Bobby tried not to consider what a hospital visit must say about her current physical state. "General?"

"Yea. Thanks, Bobby." She disconnected the phone call. "Well, that was relatively painless." She could see Marshall's answering smirk.

They drove the rest of the way to the hospital in silence. There was no need for words. Mary was trapped in her own head, trying to figure out how she had ended up being driven to the hospital by her best friend after being beaten by her boyfriend. She was also seriously contemplating buying Marshall breakfast in the morning, or more appropriately in a few hours when the sun rose. She gave him a lot of crap, yet he always rose above and beyond the call of duty or friendship. She was truly lucky to have someone like him in her life. She'd never had anyone she could depend on or trust before, but Marshall had changed all that. As long as he stood beside her, she would be able to make it through anything.

Marshall was also lost in his own thoughts. He was bouncing back and forth between worrying about Mary and imagining the various ways he could inflict damage to Raphael. He tried to pay careful attention to the road to avoid bumps, wanting to save her any pain possible. Every now and then he would sneak a look at his partner. He could see the exhaustion and the pain were taking their toll on her.

He pulled into the parking lot at the hospital and quickly got out of the car, running to meet Mary as she tried to exit the vehicle. He ignored the dirty look she threw him as he opened the door, mostly because he could also see the gratitude in her eyes that she hadn't had to use her right arm. When he held out his hand to help her get out, she let out an exasperated huff, "Marshall, I'm hurt, I'm not dead. I can get out of the car alone." Of course her statement lost its force as she stumbled against him, swaying with a bout of dizziness.

He moved his hands toward her almost instinctively, still careful not to grab her wrist or apply pressure to her side. He waited a beat until he felt her steady before releasing her. "You were saying?" He smirked. She threw him a smile that was half warning, half amused. He closed her door and took his place at her left side, making sure to walk close enough that if she swayed again, he would be able to catch her. They slowly made their way into the ER, Mary taking careful steps to save her aching side more pain.

They approached the nurses' station together. But as usual, Mary then took point. "I need to see a doctor."

The nurse looked up at her. She noted the cut on Mary's forehead, and the split cheek which was quite obviously the product of a vicious backhand. She threw a dirty look at Marshall, assuming he had been the one to do that particular damage. She also noted that those wounds had already been tended, so the patient must be requesting help for something else. "What exactly is the nature of your injury, Mam?"

Mary felt bile rise in her throat. The nurse had just called her 'mam.' She threw a look at Marshall, warning him to keep his mouth shut, and saw him duck behind his hand to cover a laugh. She chose to ignore the nurse's words and simply answer the question. Her head was starting to hurt and if she started yelling at this nurse, her headache would only get worse. "My partner seems to think I have a concussion." She felt Marshall's eyes on her, and she rolled her eyes. "And maybe a few broken ribs. And a sprained wrist."

Marshall spoke up from behind her, "Fractured." She threw him a look that said quite clearly what she thought of his interruption.

The nurse held out a clip board, "Fill this out, I'll call you when there's an available room."

Marshall took the forms before Mary could. When she threw him an angry, questioning look, he explained. "We both know that you were going to try and fill these out yourself, and in about five minutes, you would want to cry because of the pain in your wrist. And then I'd have to take over any way. So I'm saving us both some pain, and doing it for you." She thought about arguing with him for a second, but she knew he was right, so instead she followed him to a set of open seats.

Marshall had just turned in the insurance forms to the nurse when she called Mary's name. Mary stood and followed her through the doors. Marshall moved to follow, but the nurse stood in his way. "Sorry sir, family only beyond this point."

Marshall was about to open his mouth, when Mary's voice cut him off. "Look Nurse Betty, he's coming with me. So you can let him by on your own, or I can move you." The nurse jerked back at Mary's words, as if she had actually been hit. Marshall threw her an apologetic look and sidestepped, moving back to Mary's side. The two partners made their way toward exam room 2, where the nurse had pointed Mary before trying to block Marshall's path.

Mary took a seat on the gurney and Marshall leaned against the wall. Mary couldn't help but train her eyes on Marshall's face. She had seen the look of relief that flooded his eyes when she had told the nurse off, as if he had feared she would tell him he could remain in the waiting room. Marshall had promised to stay by her side, did he think she would let him take that back? "Don't even think about trying to leave. You made me come down here, so you're stuck here too."

Her tone was slightly caustic, but he could hear the plea in her voice. She didn't want to be alone; she didn't want him to leave. Her pride would not allow her to say it directly, but he had gotten quite good at reading between Mary's lines. "As you wish," his tone was soft, letting her know that she hadn't needed to say anything, that he had already planned on staying.

Before they could say anything else, the doctor entered the room. "Morning, Mary, is it? And this is your husband?"

A slight blush colored Mary's cheeks. "Yea, it's Mary. And no, this is my partner, Marshall Mann."

"Oh, well my name is Dr. Murphy. The nurse said you thought you might have a concussion and some broken ribs?"

"Yea, I think so. We couldn't really tell if the ribs were broken or cracked."

"And the concussion?"

Marshall answered the question. "She hit her head pretty hard. She was unconscious for about three hours. She also experienced a dizzy spell on our way in."

The doctor made notes on her clip board, but she threw Marshall a chilled glance. Mary didn't see the look, her eyes watching her partner as he answered the question. Marshall, however, did see the look. He knew that both the nurse and this doctor must think that he was the one to injure Mary. "Um, Mr. Mann, I'm going to have to ask you to wait in the hall, while I examine the patient."

Marshall pushed off from the wall and moved to exit the room, but Mary's hand on his stopped him. "What did I just say?" She whispered to him. To the doctor, she explained, "Marshall's not going anywhere. He's staying."

"Ms. Shannon, I really must protest. I have to do an examination and I'd like to talk to you alone. It really would be better if your 'partner' waited in the hall."

Mary did not like the emphasis that the doc put on the word partner. She'd said the word as if it were dirty, or as if she thought it meant nothing. Mary's already bad mood had shortened the leash on her temper. The doctor's tone had just snapped it. "I don't care what you have to do. He's staying. End of story."

The doctor opened her mouth to argue further, but closed it when she saw the look on Mary's face, "Very well then. Can you please take off your shirt so that I can see your ribs?" Mary shrugged the hoodie off of her right shoulder and shook it onto the bed. Without having to say anything to him, she felt Marshall step forward to help her remove her tank top once again. When it was off, the doctor let out a small gasp. "Ms. Shannon, can I ask what exactly hit you?"

"I fell on the tub."

"You fell?"

"Yea, I fell."

The doctor threw her a skeptical look. Mary didn't feel the need to elaborate that the reason she fell was because her boyfriend hit her. Besides she could read what the doctor was thinking. She assumed Marshall was responsible for the damage. Mary really didn't like this woman.

"And what happened to your wrist? Did you fall on that, too? And I suppose the cuts on your face are from, what, when you tripped and hit a doorknob?"

"I don't know if I hit the knob, but yea, they're from the bathroom door."

"Ms. Shannon, do you really expect me to believe that you did all this damage to yourself?"

"I really don't care what you believe."

"Ms. Shannon, I've been working in this ER for 15 years. I know signs of abuse when I see them."

"What's your point?"

The doctor threw Marshall a dirty look. "If your boyfriend is beating you, you need to file a report with the police department. And if you won't do it, I will."

Marshall's hands were on Mary's shoulders before she could spring up to yell at the doctor, holding her on the bed. "Relax, Mare. You'll only get hurt again." His words calmed Mary slightly, she stopped trying to fling herself at the idiotic doctor. But they seemed to piss the doctor off further.

"Mr. Mann, you will remove your hands from my patient, or do I have to call security?"

Before Marshall could explain, Mary had answered. "Go ahead and call them."

"Mare, will you stop? You're going to get me kicked out." That gave her pause, she hadn't thought of that.

"Fine, I'll stop."

"Good girl."

The doctor was not quite sure exactly what was going on, but she could see Marshall's hands still on Mary's shoulders and she had heard the warning in his voice. "Don't think just because she isn't filing against you that you're getting off scot free, Mr. Mann. I have several friends over at APD, I'll make sure you don't hurt this woman again."

"Hey, idiot, he didn't do this to me."

"There's no need to protect him, Ms. Shannon. Once the police get involved, he won't be able to harm you again." She spotted a man turning the corner in the hall, could see the gleam of the badge in his breast pocket. "Speaking of the police, here's an officer right now. Excuse me, sir?"

Bobby D. turned and walked toward the summons, which coincidently was in the same general direction that the receptionist had just sent him toward. The doc met him in the hall, his view into the room blocked by the wall. "Officer, I have a woman in here that's been beaten. She seems reluctant to press charges, but I think it would be for the best."

"Yea, okay, I'll talk to her." He would find Mary after he talked to this woman. He entered the room and stopped short, the doctor running into his back. On the bed sat Mary, her shirt still off, her chest a mottled mix of blues under her black bra. Her cheek was also a very not normal shade of purple, and bandages could be seen on both her cheek and her forehead. Standing at her side, a hand on her left shoulder, was her partner. Bobby could see more pain on Marshall's face than on Mary's, but that didn't surprise him at all.

His sharp intake of breath drew both marshals' gazes. Mary let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank God, it's only you. I thought she'd gone to get a real cop." Hearing her familiar tone allowed Bobby's breathing to return to normal. If she was able to throw slams at him, she couldn't be that hurt. He took a moment to let that reassurance sink in.

"Yea, well I guess all the 'real' cops are asleep at this hour. None of them were pulled from their beds by cryptic phone calls."

He saw a flash of pain cross her face, and regretted his jibe. Any other time, Mary would have been able to take whatever he dished out without so much as a blink of the eye. Having to call him in to report whatever had happened was clearly a sore note with her.

"She trusts you, Bobby. It's kind of an honor." Marshall had seen the pain on Mary's face as well, and had jumped in to smooth the hurt.

Bobby nodded and crossed the room. He extended his hand and tried to ignore the way she flinched back from his raised hand as if he was going to hit her. He paused a moment, letting her know he meant no harm, and then gently took Mary's chin in his grasp, tilting her face to get a look at her split cheek. When he spoke next, his voice had softened, "You want to tell me what happened?"

Doctor Murphy stepped in there. She wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but she wanted to make sure this poor woman got justice, even if she didn't know she wanted it. "This poor woman was beaten." She pointed at Marshall, "He hit her in the face. She says she fell on the tub to cause the fractured ribs, but I'm fairly certain she had some help falling. I haven't run the tests yet, but it's possible she also has a concussion from when he threw her into a door. And the colles fracture to her wrist suggests he slammed it against a wall or counter top."

Mary allowed the doc to finish before she spoke up, "That's actually a pretty accurate summary. It's a little out of order, but that's about what happened."

The doctor let out a small sound of triumph. "There you go," and pointing a finger at Marshall, she said, "Arrest him."

Mary rolled her eyes, and Bobby looked back and forth between the marshals. He may not know either of them overly well, but there was one thing he did know. He'd seen Marshall when Mary had been missing; the man had been utterly lost and desperate. There was no way that he would ever harm Mary, even if they weren't partners, sworn to protect each other. Besides, Mary would never let him. He'd believe that she attacked Marshall long before he ever believed that Marshall did this kind of damage to her.

"It wasn't Marshall, Bobby."

"Yea, I know that. Do you know who it was?"

Mary hesitated a moment to long before answering, Marshall stepped in. "Yea, we know."

Bobby nodded his head; he could tell from the tension that the answer was a sore spot between them. "Doc, I'm going to need a copy of her paperwork, when it's done."

The doctor had finally caught up. She realized she had been wrong about the man who'd come in with her patient. She had been sure that they were using the term partner to protect him. But if they were actually partners, it would explain the attitude of overbearing protectiveness he had been emitting that she had mistaken for hostility. "She's going to need X-rays, for her ribs. I'll take her over there now." She went to retrieve a wheel chair for the blonde woman.

"No way, I'm walking." Mary was not about to be wheeled around like some invalid.

"Mare, every step you take hurts. You're breathing has become even more labored since we got here. Stop being a stubborn ass and sit in the damn chair, before you do more damage than is already done." Mary was unused to Marshall ordering her around, but she knew his directions came not only out of his care for her, but also from his extensive knowledge of medicine. If he was worried she could hurt herself more by walking around, then it must be a possibility. She allowed him to carefully pull the tank top back over her head.

"Don't get used to this, doofus. Things will be back to normal come sunrise." She replied as she sat in the wheel chair. She realized that Marshall wanted to talk to Bobby alone, and she hoped that talking to her partner would be enough for him to write his report. She really didn't feel like rehashing the whole story once more. "Why don't you two wait here while the doc and I go get X-rays?"

She saw the uncertainty cross Marshall's face. "Are you sure?"

She was touched that he was taking his promise so seriously. "Yes, I'm sure. You can't come in the X-ray room anyway, so you might as well wait for me here." She and the doc left the room and headed for the elevator.

Bobby turned to Marshall. "Not too long ago, you bring her out of a basement where she spent upwards of fourteen hours being held by drug dealers planning on killing her, she's barely got a scratch and one of them is dead, with a broken nose. You expect me to believe that she let one guy do that to her?"

Anger flashed across Marshall's face. "She didn't let him do it. He slammed her wrist against the wall when she tried to fight back. She didn't really have a chance. His second swing took her out."

"The second swing? What'd he hit her with?"

"The second blow sent her into the bathroom door, knocked her out cold for about three hours." Marshall cringed at that thought. He hated to picture those images in his head.

"Did she know the guy?"

"Yeah, she knew him."

"Do you know the guy?"

"Yeah, I know him."

Bobby hesitated a moment before asking his next question, "Is he still alive?"

"For the time being, yes, he's still alive. But I'll make no assurances for his continued health. If I get to him first, he gets what's coming to him."

Bobby nodded. He knew the only reason the SOB was still breathing at this very moment was because Marshall had been more worried about making sure his partner was okay then extracting revenge on her behalf. "Are you going to give me his name?"

"Raphael Ramirez," he practically spat the name out.

"The shortstop for the Marlins? Why the hell would he do this?"

"The two of them have been sort of dating for a few months now."

"Oh," Bobby didn't bother to ask for a definition for 'sort-of dating,' he could figure out what that meant. "He ever do anything like this before?"

"Do you really think she'd still be with him if he had?"

"Relax, Marshall, standard questions; I've got to ask them."

"I know. I'm sorry Bobby. I'm a little upset, as you can imagine. There's nothing like having your best friend show up on your porch at three a.m. needing serious medical attention to really piss you off."

"I can imagine."

"I really don't think you can. She's my partner, Bobby. I'm supposed to have her back; I'm supposed to protect her. In the last year alone she's been abducted, nearly raped, and now beaten."

"None of that is your fault, Marshall. You know that, she knows that. You can't protect her from the world. You've just got to be there for after, when she needs someone to show her that the whole world isn't out to get her."

"I know that. It's just a little hard to remember when you're cleaning blood off the face of the woman you love, trying to make sure you don't jar her broken ribs." He hadn't even realized what he said, but he could feel Bobby's eyes on him. It only took him a moment for his own words to register. "You know what I mean."

Bobby smirked. He had suspected Marshall's feelings were more than platonic; he was also willing to bet that Mary felt the same, though she'd never admit it. "I know exactly what you mean." He paused for a moment, mulling over his next question. As a cop, he was meant to uphold the law, as a man, he hated seeing a girl looking like that, and as a former partner himself, he knew all too well the anger Marshall must be feeling. "Why did you call me? All you had to do was wait till she went to sleep and pay him a visit, you could have filed the report tomorrow."

"My taste for revenge wasn't as important as getting her to admit what happened. Despite my overwhelming desire to kill Raph, Mary is more important. She needed to face what happened, she needed to overcome what she was too ashamed to admit, before it became just another brick she hid behind, just another scar."

"I'm glad you called. I think maybe when you go pay this guy a visit, I'll tag along. In an unofficial capacity, of course."

"I appreciate that, Bobby." He didn't bother to tell the detective that he would be visiting Raphael solo. It was the kind of thing he had to do alone.

They were interrupted by the return of the doctor, pushing Mary in her wheel chair. "Well, Mr. Mann, you were spot on. Her right wrist is fractured. The fifth rib, however, is broken. The fourth and sixth are cracked. There's no concussion." Mary moved from the chair to the bed, subtly trying to get closer to Marshall. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but it was comforting to have him near. She knew she could trust him to take care of her. The doctor continued once she was seated on the bed. "Since you wrapped her wrist and tended the cuts, all that's left is for me to put on her sling.

"Wait, sling? You've got to be kidding me? I really don't need it."

"As long as that arm dangles free, it adds stress to your injury. With two ribs badly cracked, adding stress is like asking for another run in with that tub."

Mary shot her doctor the evil eye. "Fine. Let's get this over with." She sat still as the doctor placed her right arm in the sling and hooked it around her shoulder. "Alright, Bobby, I'm assuming you have a few questions that Marshall here didn't answer."

"You caught us. But I do actually. Why did you go over there?"

"I actually wanted to get some sleep. Marshall and I had a long day, I was exhausted. I was trying to avoid my own family for a few hours."

Bobby nodded, he'd met Mary's sister and mother. He could understand her desire to have a quiet night after a hard day at work. "Do you know what set him off?"

Mary could feel a slight blush cover her cheeks. There were few situations in which the mention of sex would turn her cheeks crimson. Apparently this was one of them. "He wanted to have sex. I said no. So he decided he'd try something new and see how I enjoyed it."

Neither of the men in the room found that particular line entertaining. Bobby had one final question. "Was he still breathing when you left him?"

Mary smirked. She knew Bobby was only half serious. That question was his way of bolstering her pride, showing her that he hadn't lost any respect for her. "I considered introducing him to my glock 9, but I'm right handed. I could barely open the door to get out of his apartment, I wasn't about to try going back in carrying."

"It's probably for the best. I think I have all I need, I'll go to the office and file this now." He threw Marshall a look. "I'll go pick Raphael up in the morning."

Marshall held out his hand. "Thanks for everything, Bobby. If you have any other questions, Mary will be at my place." Bobby nodded, said his goodbyes to Mary and the doc, took the envelope of pictures for the report and left.

"I'm staying at your place?"

"I have an empty bed. If you go home now, you'll have to deal with Jinx." He saw Mary shudder. "If you come back to my place, I'll make you breakfast in the morning." He saw the excitement in Mary's eyes. She loved when he cooked for her.

"Fine, we'll go back to your place. But let's go now." She let out a yawn. "If I stay any longer, you'll have to carry me inside."

Choosing silence as the best response to her comment, Marshall merely pushed the door open, giving her leave to take the lead. She thanked the doctor and left the room, Marshall following behind. The drive back to Marshall's was quiet. Mary was exhausted. Not counting the three hours she'd been unconscious, she'd been awake almost sixteen hours straight. It was nowhere near her longest day, but the physical injuries definitely made the day seem like it had been three times as long.

The partners pulled up in Marshall's drive way and slowly moved into his house. Mary made her way down the hall way and into the guest bedroom, which Marshall made a point of keeping ready for her should she ever need it. As she stood in the middle of the room, she felt his presence behind her. She was thankful for it. She felt tears well in her eyes. She wasn't one for emotional displays, but sometimes, her feelings got the better of her. She thought back to the night Marshall had been shot. She'd been able to maintain her calm, collected façade through the whole ordeal. But in the hospital waiting room, her strength had at last failed her. The same thing happened now.

He saw her shoulders hitch, knew that the sobs were coming. Normally, he would leave her to them, knowing she wouldn't want an audience, but he had promised to stay by her. He would stand here until she asked him to leave. But as he watched his partner, he became aware of the strength leaving her. It was practically visible, she'd been pushed too far tonight. A second before her knees buckled, he was there. Careful of her injuries, he caught her as she fell.

The two friends sat there, in the early hours of the morning. Mary had reached that point just beyond exhausted where she had no control of the tears. They simply came, and she did not have the strength to keep them back. Marshall had his arms wrapped around her, holding her close and rocking her, letting her know that he was there for her.

Neither was sure how much time passed, it wasn't important. They simply sat there, touching, connected. Eventually, Mary's tears stopped. The sobs lessened and she was able to pull herself together. She locked eyes with her partner and silently thanked whoever had sent him to her.

"Do you want to try and get some sleep now?" He wasn't pushing her, merely trying to make sure she got whatever it was that she needed. Not yet trusting her voice, she simply nodded. He stood, reaching a hand down to help her up. He watched as she walked to the other side of the bed and sat.

With her back to him, he could not see the internal war that she fought. More than anything, she did not want to be alone; she did not want Marshall to leave her. But asking him to stay went against everything she tried so hard to be. After several long moments, she let her heart speak. Her voice came out tiny, she wasn't sure he could even hear. "Will you stay?"

Her request gave him pause. He wanted nothing more than to stay here with this woman who meant everything to him, but he wasn't sure it was the best idea. Plus, he had a very pressing engagement. Yet, how could he deny her, when he knew how much that plea must have cost her. And he would be insane to pass up an opportunity to be there for her. "Of course," his reply was just as soft.

She felt him move toward the chair, could feel his gaze on her, so she shook her head and turned to face him. "I know it's asking a lot, but please. I need someone I can trust close, I just want to feel…" She trailed off, not knowing exactly what she wanted to feel. But he seemed to understand. He moved back around the bed, and sat. He kicked off the sneakers he was still wearing and turned to her. She knew he was waiting for her direction. A feeling of warmth spread through her.

It never ceased to amaze her just how well her partner could read her. She lay down, pulling him down with her. She was careful to lie on her left side, her back facing him. She took his right hand and pulled it over her, twining their fingers together. She felt his other hand come to rest above her head. She relaxed against him, taking comfort in his warmth at her back. It did not take long for her to drift off to sleep.

Marshall, however, did not drift off. He took his time appreciating the moment he found himself in. His partner had asked him for comfort, had asked him to protect her while she slept. He had never thought in a million years that he would ever have a chance to see this side of Mary, a big part of him wished he still hadn't. But now that she had been to the doctor, and he knew she would be okay, he was able to find the good in this nightmarish situation. Mary had come to him, trusting him. She would never know how much that meant to him. And she had allowed her vulnerability to show through when she asked him to stay with her; a part of her he loved as much as the rest. It was rare that Mary allowed anyone to see her at less than her strongest, but when she did, Marshall couldn't help but want to wrap his arms around her. And right now, he was doing just that.

As he thought about his partner, the tension in his shoulders eased. His desire to hunt down Mary's bastard of a boyfriend cooled. There was nowhere he would rather be than right here with Mary. If Raphael continued breathing long enough to be arrested by Bobby, Marshall could live with it, if this was the price.

Marshall, too, was eventually claimed by sleep. The two partners spent the last few hours of night together, in each other's arms.

Despite his exhaustion, Marshall rose fairly early. He silently crept from the bedroom he'd shared with Mary and went down the hall to his bathroom. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he made his way to the kitchen. He'd promised Mary a feast and he meant to deliver. He also needed to make a few phone calls and didn't want to risk waking her.

In the kitchen, he started the coffee pot and turned on the stove. He gathered the various ingredients he would need and set about making everything. He had made breakfast often enough for his partner that he knew her favorites. He scrambled her eggs perfectly, made chocolate chip pancakes, and cleaned an array of fruit for her to pick at. As he was preparing the meal, he talked on the phone, quietly.

The first call was to Stan. He beat the eggs as the phone was ringing. Stan answered his cell on the third ring. "Good Morning, Marshall. I've got the coffee this morning. When can I expect you and Mary?"

"We won't be coming in today, Stan."

"What does that mean? I know we had a long day yesterday, and finished the Peters file, but there's plenty of other work that needs to be done. You two can't just call out because you're still tired. I got just as much sleep as you did."

"Not true, Stan. Trust me, you got way more sleep than either Mary or I."

"Well, it's your own fault if you went to the bar after you left here. I told you both to get some sleep."

"We didn't go to the bar, Stan."

Something in Marshall's tone must have broken through to Stan, because his slightly aggravated tone changed to one containing worry. "What happened then?"

"It's a long story, but neither Mary nor I are going to be of much use today."

"What does that mean, Marshall?"

"It means that we'll see you tomorrow, or I will, at least. I'm not going to speak for Mary."

"Marshall, I want an explanation."

"And I'll give you one, Stan. Just not now. First thing tomorrow, I'll tell you all about it, but I've had a long night, and I'd rather not go through it just now."

Stan heard Marshall's tone. He knew he would get nothing from his marshal now. "Fine, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Stan." Marshall disconnected the call. He hated keeping Stan in the dark, but he wanted to talk to Mary before he told Stan anything. It wouldn't do to upset her by telling Stan more than was necessary. Mary would probably prefer to keep him out of the loop about what had happened, but they would have to tell him something, especially because it would take quite a few days for her injuries to heal. Stan would want an explanation.

Having gotten both Mary and himself out of work for the day, he dialed Bobby D. He needed to make sure that Raphael was, at the very least, off the streets. Marshall would have preferred a chance to teach the ball player a lesson, but Mary had needed him more than he had needed to show Raphael his swing.

Bobby answered the phone after one ring, Marshall figured he had probably been waiting for this call. "Imagine my surprise when I show up at a certain shortstop's place to find him in perfect working condition. Not that I'm not grateful for the chance to be the first to rough him up, but I expected to find him semi conscious and bleeding this morning. What happened?"

"Mary needed me here. You got the bastard?"

"Yup, he's in lock up now. We have it all arranged. We're gonna keep him in the station today so that he can't be arraigned until tomorrow. It's not exactly what he deserves, but it's a start."

"You won't get in trouble for that?"

"Technically, it's against the rules. But a lot of the guys here have heard your partner's story, you know – the basement and Spanky and all that. They've got a lot of respect for her. When they found out what this guy did to her, enough of them are pissed that it won't be a problem. How's Mary doing?"

"She's strong, she'll be okay. She's actually still asleep, though."

At that moment, Mary entered the kitchen. "No, I'm not." She was walking slowly, trying not to move too much of her upper body as she walked.

"Never mind, she just walked in. We'll see you later on, alright?"

"Yup, see you, Marshall."

Marshall looked over at Mary, who was attempting to eat bacon that had just come off the skillet. "You know there's a plate of bacon on the table that's had a second to cool down?"

Mary shot a glance over at the table, then looked back at Marshall, a smirk blooming on her face, "That plate is for the wimps." Though she tried to hide it, he saw a slight wince as the motion of her mouth pulled at her cheek.

"Alright Wonder Woman, sit down, before you drip bacon grease all over the floor." He could tell she thought about making a face at him, most likely sticking out her tongue, but she thought better of it. She then moved to the table, anxious to dig in. As she began to fill her plate, he went to the stove and poured them both coffee. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Her response was automatic. He shot her a look over the milk that he was adding to his own coffee. She rolled her eyes. "Sore, are you happy? I'm sore as hell and my side is killing me. I feel like I have a monkey sitting on my chest or something."

He took his seat across from her and placed her cup in front of her. "No, I'm not happy."

She knew he wasn't happy. She just wasn't used to taking other people's feelings into consideration. But Marshall had been there for her last night in a big way. And that was making it very hard to ignore some things. Like the fact that she was falling for her partner, or rather had fallen for her partner, and was finally able to admit it to herself. She had been in denial for a while. Since that day in the desert, when she had spent three hours fuming over his abandonment, only to watch a bullet enter his chest and be faced with his death. That night as she had sat by his bedside and cried, she had begun to suspect it was true. And when he had taken care of her after her ordeal in that basement, putting up with her freakish mood swings, she had known, but ignored. But now it was impossible to ignore, because now she knew he felt the same.

She had seen it last night when every wince she had experienced had brought a shadow to his face. It had been obvious when he had opened the door and ushered her in without a single question. And as she had fallen asleep in his arms, she had known they wouldn't be able to ignore it any longer. So she swallowed the bite of pancake in her mouth and put down her fork. She hated talking about her 'feelings,' but she knew that this conversation between her and Marshall had been a long time in coming. If they ignored it any longer, who knows what would happen.

Besides, falling asleep in his arms last night had been the best feeling she'd had in awhile. And considering that she was suffering from 2 cracked ribs and a sprained wrist at the time, that was saying something. She knew that Marshall was the perfect partner, a great friend, and an amazing cook. She was pretty sure he would also make a damn good boyfriend, and he was probably astounding in bed.

At the sound of Mary's fork hitting the table, Marshall looked up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I think we need to talk."

"Talk?" The word sounded foreign to Marshall's tongue, "About what, Mare?"

"About this, about us, about everything," Mary's mind was racing a mile a minute. She knew how easily she could put her foot in her own mouth if she wasn't careful. She did not want that to happen here.

Marshall managed to latch onto only one thing, "Us?"

"Yeah, Marshall, us," She let out a breathless chuckle. She saw something akin to panic run through Marshall's eyes. She knew her partner well. Right now, he was terrified that she was about to tell him she couldn't work with him anymore. In his head, he was thinking up a million reasons why she shouldn't bother filing transfer work. She continued hastily, so as to prevent an aneurism. "Relax, Marsh, it's nothing bad. At least, I don't think it's bad."

He let out a breath. "Okay then, let's talk."

"Alright, but you have to let me talk, okay? Just hear me, and I promise you will have your chance to weigh in. Can you do that?"

He gave her a long look, trying to read her mind. But for once, he couldn't. So he nodded, "Yeah, I can do that."

She nodded as well, so far so good. "First off, last night," she saw him open his mouth to interrupt. "I'm fairly certain I said no interruptions." He closed his mouth again, "Good. I want to apologize. I know you're about to tell me there's no need but I am sorry that I put you through that. I'm so used to being the only person that cares about myself that I tend to do stupid things and get myself into stupid situations that end with me being in pain. And when I'm the only one in the picture it's not a big deal because I'm the only one that's in pain. But now, with you around, I'm not the only one in pain. And I'm sorry that you got hurt." She paused, allowing him a chance to speak.

"Last night was hardly your fault, in any sense of the word. Though you're right, you do have a tendency to put yourself in potentially dangerous spots. But you're a marshal, its part of your job, our job." He made sure to catch her eye, so that she understood the next part, "And you're right. I hate seeing you in pain, but don't think that means you should ever hesitate to come to me. I'd rather be with you when you're in pain, than have you be in pain alone."

"I know, and that means a lot to me, which brings me to point number two. I want to thank you. You were pretty much perfect last night, and you have no idea what it meant to me to have you by my side. You know perfectly well what my life is like; I haven't had someone I could count on since I was eight. And then there's you." She didn't know how to go on, this was new territory for her. She couldn't find the words that would explain to him what she was trying to say.

But he got it. Over the years of their partnership, he had watched her stand alone, like Atlas, trying to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders, trying to need no one. But he had also seen that where she denied everyone else, she sometimes allowed him to help. Not with stupid stuff like her paperwork or making phone calls for her, but with the big things. Every now and then, she allowed him to stand next to her when it seemed as though her world was crumbling. "You don't have to thank me. I'm your partner, I'm your friend. It's what I do."

"Be that as it may, last night was probably harder on you then it was on me. And you managed to be everything I needed."

A small, sad chuckle escaped him. She had been the one beaten and bruised, yet she thought the night had been harder on him. Sometimes his partner was ridiculous. "Honestly, I'm just glad that you let me."

And there it was, the opening she needed. She took a deep breath and then jumped; stepping off the ledge and hoping to God that Marshall would be there to catch her. "I know that I'm not the easiest person to get along with Marshall, and I know that the last few months, I've been particularly difficult. I guess I should tell you why. I've been trying to keep the distance between us, as hard as I could. I'm terrified of you, Marshall."

She hadn't meant it to come out that way, but she saw hurt in her partner's eyes. "What?"

She could have kicked herself. "That came out wrong. Just listen, and wait till I finish before you think you know what I'm saying." She took a moment to organize her thoughts and then looked away from Marshall. It was easier to think when she wasn't staring into his eyes. She stood up and walked around to the other side of his kitchen aisle. She began to pace. "I'm not afraid of you, Marshall, I'm afraid of us. My father left when I was eight. I haven't relied on anyone but myself since that day, not Jinx, not Brandi, not a single one of my loser boyfriends. I don't let anyone get close enough to put down roots, because I remember how much it hurts when they tear them up. So for the last twenty plus years, I've kept everyone I've met at a minimum safe distance. But you won't follow the damn rules. You come, and I push you away, and you come back again, pushing harder than before. At first, I didn't mind because it was no big deal, I didn't realize just how close you were getting. And then I found that damn letter, and you got shot.

"Twenty years since I felt the pain of having my heart slowly crushed by hope, but I remembered it just fine. I never wanted to feel it again. But the entire night I sat by your hospital bed, it's all I could feel. It was like sitting by the window waiting for my father to come home all over again, waiting for you to wake up. Then you did. I was so relieved to see your eyes open that I tried to forget how bad it had hurt to watch you lie there immobile." She didn't even try to stop herself. Now that she had started, the words simply fell from her lips. "I could have gone on pretending that I didn't see the truth, but then I was stuck in that damn basement. There's nothing like staring at mildew for hours on end, waiting for death, to help you evaluate your life. Hours I sat alone and all I could think about was that night in the damn barn and wonder what would have happened if my witness hadn't been staring down the barrel of a gun.

"But after you got me out of there, I was still trapped in my own head. I could barely think straight, never mind trying to explain anything to you. And at that point, I needed you too much. I've been struggling with it for awhile now, afraid to say something and risk pushing you away, driving you away. Because I'm pretty sure if you leave now, you'll take my heart with you, that's how deep your roots are. I'm in love with you, Marshall, and I don't know what to do about it, because I can't remember loving anyone since my father. And that scares me." She ended abruptly. She stopped her pacing and sought his face. But he was no longer in his chair at the table.

For a second, her heart stopped. Then his face filled her vision and he was beside her. He gently took her face in his hands and brought his lips to meet hers, careful not to hurt her damaged cheek. She was not as cautious. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling away quickly as both her wrist and side protested the movement. A look of worry filled Marshall's face, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just wishing I had done this yesterday morning instead. It would have made this part of the exchange a little less painful."

"I wish you had done it weeks ago." He placed his hand under her chin, bringing her eyes to his own. "For the record, I love you, too. And you don't have to be afraid, you're my partner, I'm not going anywhere."

Mary knew that such a promise was rash and basically empty because no one could predict the future. But she also knew that if it was in his power, Marshall would not leave. And that was enough. They still had a lot to talk about, and this wouldn't be easy. Of course, she'd never really had anything come easily to her so she wasn't afraid of the challenge. Mary was tired of being afraid of what could go wrong, because she was positive the good that would come from this would be so much better than any consequences could be.

The two partners returned to the table to nibble on their now cold breakfast. After a few minutes of silence, Mary raised her eyes to find Marshall staring at her. She cleared her throat, "So what's on the agenda for today?"

Marshall could have laughed. For months he'd feared the day she realized he loved her, or that she had feelings for him. Never in a million years would he have predicted it would happen like this. "Nothing much, actually. I called Stan and told him we wouldn't be in today. We are going to have to figure out what you want to tell him though. For now, he's letting it slide, but he'll want answers next time we go into the office. Or I guess, next time I go into the office, because you'll be out for a few days."

"What do you mean out? If you get to go back to work, so do I."

Marshall chuckled. Mary was so stubborn and ridiculous sometimes. "I don't have any broken bones. Besides, those ribs are going to need a few days before you're capable of doing anything strenuous, like walk further than from bed to breakfast. Nope, you're under house arrest for at least a week. After that, we'll see."

"You're not my mother. And even if you were, you can't make me stay in bed." She realized how harsh the words came out. She continued, trying to soften what she'd said. "Marshall, I can't just lie in bed and do nothing for weeks on end. I'm not that kind of girl."

"I'm not asking you to do that. I wouldn't dream of even trying to. But you do need to spend a few days in bed. At least until your breathing gets less painful; that's maybe three days, tops. That will give your face a chance to heal as well and some of the bruising will have disappeared. Then, you can come back to work. You know that if you try and go in looking like this tomorrow, Stan will order you out for two weeks, minimum. This way you're only out of commission for a few days."

Mary considered what Marshall was saying. He was right. If Stan saw her face like this, he would order her out of the office. It wouldn't even matter about her other injuries, but when he heard about them, it would make her forced exile even longer. Damn Raph, she really wished she had taken the time to shoot him. It felt as though she had just gotten back into the office, she didn't want to be out again already. "Okay, you have a point. I'll stay home for a few days."

A wicked glint shone in Marshall's eyes. "No, you'll stay here for a few days. I'm going to make sure you take it easy and that you eat."

Mary thought about arguing. She didn't want to be coddled and watched. But something in Marshall's tone and the way he was looking at her told her that staying here would be more than just him babysitting her. And she was more than a little interested in seeing what exactly Marshall had in mind. Plus, she knew that after this latest incident, Marshall would be twice as anxious anytime she was out of sight. If staying here eased his mind, she could capitulate. She wanted to show him what her earlier confession meant, "If that will make you happy."

Marshall threw her a quizzical glance, surprised by her quick acquiescence. "Will it make you happy?" He tried to keep all traces of hope or skepticism from his voice.

Mary could read Marshall like an open book. She locked eyes with him, letting her trust and love fill her own. "Yea, I think it will."

He seemed to accept her answer. "Good; so what are we going to tell Stan?"

Mary froze, a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth. She honestly hadn't once considered telling anyone but Marshall. And if he hadn't insisted on filing a report, she wouldn't have told Bobby. Telling Stan would be worse than telling either of them. For one, Marshall had been able to read most of what happened from her body language. She'd only needed to fill in a few details. And he had been the one to tell Bobby what happened. Stan wasn't as good as Marshall, he would need things lain out plain in front of him to understand. And Stan's paternal state of mind would not make it an easy explanation. And since she would need time off and lighter duties, not telling him anything was not an option. "Can't we tell him I got in a fight with a gang of bikers, or had to outrun a lion or something?"

Again, Marshall laughed. It was good to have Mary acting like normal, even if she didn't quite look that way. "A lion, Mare, really? Why don't we just tell him you fell off stage during the talent portion of the Miss America pageant?"

Mary seemed to consider this option for a minute. "Do you think he'd buy that?" She thought for another minute, as though actually trying to test its validity. "I don't think so, it's not the right time of year." The light banter worked wonders for her. The feelings of weakness from last night were soothed away by a return to normal. Any awkwardness from her earlier confession, and any fear that things might change too much between them, were removed by a healthy taste of good old mockery.

Mary knew that the only real option was to tell Stan the truth. While she was more than up for a challenge, formulating a lie would take a lot of work, and maintaining it would be even more straining. She was looking at a month of recovery from her injuries, adding the stress of maintaining a cover story like that would be like asking for another round with Raph. She'd rather just be honest with Stan. Plus honesty in this situation would make it easier to sneak around with Marshall. Not that she wanted to sneak around with him. For the first time in her life, she was actually excited about a relationship, but WITSEC had rules.

After she recovered, things would be different, she and Marshall could present a unified and stable front to Stan to argue their case. But that was a problem for another day. She had enough to deal with in the coming weeks, there was no point in worrying about tomorrow's problems today, especially because she wasn't exactly sure where she and Marshall stood to begin with. But that too was a topic that she could ponder later. "I'll tell Stan the truth." Marshall's head rose abruptly to meet her gaze, as if surprised by her decision, which he probably was. Mary was usually a 'lie first, lie later, never reveal her secrets' kind of girl. "It's not like I have much of a choice. If I tell him it happened because of the job, he'll want an incident report and who knows what other kind of paper work. And while I have no real problem lying to Stan, I'd rather not take on the entire U.S. government. And if I tell him I got mugged, or something like that, he'll want to see police reports and then that's more lying, which we'd have to have Bobby D.'s help for. So to save myself a lot of paper work, and a lot of trouble, the truth is the safest option."

Marshall was astonished. For what was probably the first time in their partnership, Mary had used pure logic to solve a problem. She hadn't allowed her emotions or her fear to color her judgment. Sure the logic had been a little twisted, but it was Mary, so it was to be expected. He decided to play Devil's Advocate. "You're not worried what he'll think of you? That he'll think you can't do your job, that you're weak?"

Mary was in fact afraid of all those things, but she had trusted Marshall and he had surprised her. And Stan had been a great support after her ordeal with Spanky, even if he had made her follow a bunch of stupid rules. He had done it for her benefit, and because of his own bosses. It had nothing to do with his opinion of her. "Of course I am. But I've proven myself against a dozen other assailants. Even the best have to lose some time." She watched his face for his reaction, trying to gauge what he thought Stan's response would be.

Marshall allowed a grin to spread across his face. "You didn't lose, Mare, never think you did. But you're right to trust Stan. He won't think any less of you. And I've got your back, so you have nothing to worry about."

She allowed an answering grin to show. Having him at her side made all the difference. She could take on anyone or anything, as long as Marshall was there. "I know. So tomorrow, I'll drive you into work and explain everything to Stan. If he's cool with it, I'll hang around in the office and catch up on some paperwork. If he's not, well then I'll…"

Marshall interrupted whatever she had been about to say, "hang around the office and catch up on paperwork?"

"Yeah, pretty much." She shrugged her shoulders. What else was there? She wasn't going to sit at home while Marshall was out there alone. At least in the office, she felt semi helpful. She decided not to point out to him that she had also just won the 'how long she'd be out of work' argument. By throwing Marshall off and deciding to tell Stan the truth, she'd gotten him to completely forget about his little house arrest idea. Still, she would be a good girl and remain in the office, and at night she'd come back to Marshall's. It actually seemed like a brilliant plan.

"That's my girl." He leaned over and kissed her. For a heartbeat, it took Mary by surprise. She wasn't yet used to her new status with Marshall. But it didn't take long for her mind to shut down and let her body respond. Unfortunately, when she moved to pull him closer, the pain again got the better of her. She pulled away with a small cry, the breath momentarily stolen from her lungs, though she wasn't sure if the kiss or her broken rib was to blame. Marshall's face was a mask of pain as well, as if he too was suffering from a few bone fractures. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

When Mary had at last caught her breath, she looked over at him. "Don't you dare apologize for _that_. _That _was perfect. I just wasn't thinking, I'll have to try and be more careful. How long does it take for a broken rib to heal anyway?"

Marshall took a second to go through the mass of information in his head, "Anywhere from three to eight weeks, depending on the severity of the break. Why?"

Mary slowly stood up and walked around the table. Marshall pushed his chair back to follow her movements, but before he could stand, she gently straddled his lap. He put his hands on either side of her waist, trying to offer what support he could. She leaned into him so that her mouth was next to his ear, her breath hot on his neck. "Just wondering how long you have to wait. And how long I have to drive you crazy."

Marshall drew his breath in sharply. Having her this close was wreaking havoc on his mind, and his body was responding in ways he wouldn't be able to finish for a few weeks. Still, he managed to keep some semblance of composure in his voice, "We passed that point about three years ago. And again forty-five seconds ago." He had to pause to regain his cognitive abilities as she slowly kissed her way down his neck. "It's not nice to tease, you know. Don't think you're the only one who can," another sharp intake as she hit the spot just at the base of his ear, gently nipping him, "do this."

She pulled back, leaving his skin on fire where she had once been. "You think you can play in the big leagues?" She put her flirt smile on, the one that had gotten her out of speeding tickets before she'd had a badge and gotten her free drinks before she'd had an ID.

Now that her lips were no longer on his skin, Marshall could think straight. He could also control himself. With her injuries, he and Mary wouldn't be able to have sex for awhile. While there was plenty of other things they could do to pass the time, he didn't want to explore all of them this afternoon. Because he knew Mary. Sex was one of her biggest highs. Being on restriction from it would grate on her nerves quickly. He'd have to be able to distract her for the length of time it took for her to heal. So instead of sliding his hands up her shirt or running his lips along her jaw, he leaned in slowly, never taking his eyes off hers. He placed a single kiss on the corner of her mouth, allowing his lips to linger. He watched as her eyes rolled up, not in ridicule, but in ecstasy. Then, still with his mouth next to hers, he whispered, "Yeah, I think I can."

Mary's eyes snapped back to his. When his lips had touched hers, she had completely forgotten that she had issued a challenge. Marshall was good. He had been better in that simple kiss than some guys had been in bed. She wasn't sure who would go crazy first, him or her. She pulled back, letting her admiration show clearly on her face. If they allowed this to continue, she knew well what would happen. She would rush her recovery; tell him she was better before she actually was, just to get the full Marshall experience. And then instead of a perfect first night together, she would be in pain. And she didn't want that. Because not only would it hurt her, it would hurt him. And she didn't want that to get in the way of what she now knew would be the best thing that ever happened to her. So she took a deep breath. "Okay, we need to talk."

A look of panic crossed Marshall's face. He was afraid that everything had gotten to be too much for her. He pulled back.

"Relax, Marshall, there's nothing to worry about. I just think we need to get on the same page real quick, okay?" Marshall nodded, not sure what page they were talking about. "While that was pretty much perfect, I don't think you should do it again." He now looked thoroughly confused. "As much as I hate to say it, we're going to need to take things slow. Because much more of that, and I'm going to try and ravage you right here at the kitchen table. And something tells me that's against doctor's orders."

He let out a relieved sigh, "Definitely. Well, I can take it slow if you can."

She closed her eyes, remembering that kiss. "I'm not nearly as confident. But I'll try, if only because that will make it so much better when it does happen." And she leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his lips. She then pulled back once again. "So what's on the agenda for today?"

Marshall was amazed sometimes at how quickly she could switch gears. "Nothing much, unless there's something special you need to do."

"If I'm going to be staying here, I'm going to need some clothes and my toothbrush, at the very least."

Marshall nodded, "No problem, we'll stop by your place later this afternoon."

Marshall helped Mary to stand up and then began clearing the plates. He moved the dishes over to the counter, deciding to leave them for later. Mary watched. She was trying to work up the nerve to ask him a favor. She knew he'd say yes, but it wasn't about his answer so much as it was about her reluctance to drag him into her family. But it would be easier if he was there. "When we stop at my place, will you come in with me?"

Marshall was a little stunned by her question. "Of course I will. Are you going to tell them the truth?" He didn't mean it to sound cynical, or even mean. He was just curious what she was going to do.

Mary shook her head. "They wouldn't understand. Telling Stan is one thing, telling my family is different. After I got home from the basement, still covered in blood and exhausted, my mother told me I was inconsiderate. She said I had no right to treat Brandi rudely, because she had just lost her boyfriend. I guess it never occurred to Jinx that she could have lost her sister instead, or that I was sitting right there when Chuck was shot. I learned a long time ago that it isn't my pain that matters to my family, it's how my pain affects me taking care of them." She saw the anger in Marshall's eyes. Normally she wouldn't have bothered to explain so much to him, just giving him the answer and letting it go. But she knew that if they were going to try and be a couple, he would want more, and she wanted to give him that. She just had to hope that it wasn't too much. "It's okay, Marshall, I've learned to accept it. I don't need them, or their understanding. I've lived twenty five years and more without it. If being abducted didn't show them the error of their ways, nothing will. I'm perfectly fine standing alone."

He reached out to her uninjured hand, and squeezed it tightly. "You're not alone anymore. You'll never be alone again."

She looked down at their entwined hands, then up into his eyes. "I know." She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, then allowed him to draw her into his arms. She hadn't allowed anyone to comfort her like this in ages. No, that wasn't true. When she'd come out of that basement, she had allowed Marshall to comfort her just like this. He had held her tight, reassuring her that she was safe. It had felt as amazing then as it did now. But the only man she could recall holding her like this, as if she was the most precious thing in the world, besides Marshall himself, was her father. She had been seven then, the last time she'd taken comfort from a man, from anyone. She had believed her father could fix anything, protect her from everything. She knew better now. Marshall couldn't fix everything, and despite how much he wished he could, he couldn't protect her from the world. But he could stand by her side and offer her this. And in her eyes, there was nothing better.

They stood like that for several minutes longer. Then Mary eased back gently. Her ribs were starting to hurt, and as good as having Marshall's arms wrapped around her felt, the added pressure wasn't helping any. She moved around the table to pick her coffee cup back up. She carefully drained it as she made her way once more around the table, moving toward the sink this time. Marshall watched in silence. When she turned back around, he could see the pain she was trying so hard to hide in her eyes. When she had taken her seat back at the table, he stood up and walked over to his refrigerator. From on top, he pulled down the bottle of aspirin.

While normally, broken ribs would merit prescription drugs, he knew Mary better than that. Because of her family's history with addiction, she rarely used anything stronger than an Advil. He poured two tablets into his hand and filled a glass of water from the sink. He then walked it over to the table. He held his hand out for her. For a second, she considered refusing, but she knew there was really no point. She downed the two tablets and took a sip of the water. Marshall leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Why don't you go lie down? It might help with the pain. And I'm sure you're still exhausted."

"What about you?"

"I got more sleep last night than you did. And I also don't have any cracked or broken ribs. It'll give me a chance to do the dishes and check in on a few of our witnesses."

Again, Mary considered refusing, but he was right. She was exhausted and just the act of sitting up straight was causing shooting pains in her chest. So she nodded, rose and made her way back down the hall. Marshall watched her go and then went to the sink. He made quick work of the dishes from breakfast, and deftly wrapped what fruit had gone uneaten and put it back in the fridge for later. Then he went to check on a few of his witnesses.

It took a little over an hour to make the two phone calls to his own witnesses, and one to Mary's newest case. They were just check in calls, to make sure that the newest members of the program were adjusting and understanding their new roles. Later in the week, once Mary had recovered a little, he would make actual visits. But for now, the calls would suffice. When he had finished the work, he made his way down the hall to check on Mary.

She was laying in bed, eyes closed. He assumed she was asleep, but as he went to close the door, she stopped him. "Stay with me. You must still be tired." So once again, he crossed the room and joined her in the bed. It wasn't long before they both had dozed off.

Mary was the first to wake up. She looked over at her partner and decided she'd rather not disturb him. She instead got out of the bed, careful not to wake him, and went out to her car. She got her emergency bag from the trunk, which she kept stocked with a change of clothes, and returned to the house. She went into the bathroom and changed out of yesterday's work clothes and got into the pair of sweats. With her arm in a sling and the damaged ribs, she couldn't change her shirt, but she figured Marshall would be willing to help when he woke up. She leaned over the sink and examined her face. The bruising hadn't improved over night. The area surrounding the cut on her forehead was a dark purple and her cheek was the same.

She leaned back and gingerly lifted her tank top as high as possible without hurting herself, which wasn't very high at all. But what she could see of her stomach wasn't pretty. She'd only caught a glimpse of it last night in the kitchen, but she could see more in the mirror. Her entire right side was colored, a purple to match her face in some areas and a bright red in others. No wonder she was having trouble breathing. She let her shirt fall. There was no point worrying over what she couldn't change. She'd have to deal with the pain, and the sight of her multicolored torso, because that was her only option. Besides, if she obsessed over it, Marshall would catch on, and she didn't want to remind him of it any more than needed.

She turned out the bathroom light and moved down the hall to the kitchen. She took out her cell, she needed to check her messages. A quick call to the office revealed nothing that couldn't wait till tomorrow. The answering machine at her house, however, was another story. There was only one message waiting. It was from Raphael.

When she first heard his voice, a chill ran down her spine and she let out a gasp of surprise. She had been counting on never hearing that voice again. "Mary, where did you run off to this morning? I came looking for you, but you were already gone." He paused a moment, and Mary considered hanging up. But she needed to hear what he was going to say, whatever it was. She was a US Marshall, she wasn't afraid of a baseball player with a bum knee and a mean back hand. "Where I come from, there are rules. What happens in the privacy of the home, between a man and his woman, stays private. And this had better as well. You like to play tough Mary, but I know you. If you tell anyone , you will regret it. I promise." He hung up, but his words rang in her ear. When Marshall placed his hand on her shoulder, she jumped, pulling at her side and bringing tears to her eyes.

Marshall had awoken to an empty bed. A look in the bathroom had shown her bag. He had then moved toward the kitchen. He figured she just needed a few minutes alone and had been about to walk away when he heard her sharp intake of breath. He approached her from behind, watching her back for the slightest indication of what was happening. He could tell she was on the phone and was rapidly trying to figure out who could be on the other end of the line. When he was within reach of her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped, pulling away from him and turning around.

He could see the tears, and he wondered if they were from the pain or the phone call. "Who's on the line, Mare?" She locked eyes with him but didn't say a word. Instead she pulled the phone from her ear and pressed the button to replay the message and then extended the phone toward her partner. With a question in his eyes, he took it from her and held it to his ear.

When he heard Raph's voice, his back stiffened. No wonder she had jumped. He listened to the whole of the message and then pressed the button to save it. He hung up the phone and put it into his pocket, he was going to make sure Bobby got a chance to rerecord that message. Then he held his arms out for his partner, stealing himself in case she refused. But she didn't. She moved into his embrace quickly, wrapping her left arm around him and cradling her right to her own chest. He hugged her tightly, careful not to cause her extra pain.

"Bobby arrested him this morning. He's at the precinct, in a cell. He's not coming anywhere near you. And after I'm done with him, he won't be able to hurt anyone. Okay?"

Mary didn't trust her voice, so instead she just nodded against his chest. She hated showing such weakness. She'd faced down South African diamond smugglers, Mafia underbosses, and kidnapping drug dealers, and yet here she was cringing at the sound of her not boyfriend's voice. It did not help restore her lost confidence. But being in Marshall's arms helped to soothe the pain. As she had several times since regaining consciousness in Raph's bathroom, she lost track of time as she stood in Marshall's arms.

He was the one to call her back. "It's almost two. What do you say we head out? We'll stop by your house, you can get your stuff together, and then if you want, we can talk Bobby into letting you stand on the other side of the glass while I teach Raphael a lesson about partners."

The time spent in Marshall's embrace had restored her equilibrium, "Sounds like a plan." They both pulled away then and made their way out of the house. Marshall made sure to watch Mary as she descended the porch steps and couldn't help but smile as once again she muttered a silent curse against them. Just as she had earlier that morning, she walked to the passenger door of Marshall's car. He was beginning to get used to this.

He'd traveled the roads between his own house and Mary's dozens of times, it had become practically second nature. So as he progressed through the streets, his mind wandered to his partner. He was amazed at how easily she had made the transition from partner to whatever it was that she was now. His lover, his girlfriend, his soulmate; in his mind the answer was all three but they had yet to set any definitions. Still, she had responded to him in the kitchen as if they had been dating for months, and she had accepted what comfort he had offered, something she'd always tried to avoid before. He had always known she would make a great girlfriend when the right guy came along.

As they pulled into her driveway, he cast a sideways glance at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Mary's eyes were locked on her own front porch. This was her house and she had done nothing to be ashamed of. She wasn't going to let what Jinx and Brandi might say keep her from going inside. She couldn't let what that asshole did to her keep her from being herself. "Yes, I'm sure."

She was determined to make it into her own house by herself. She exited the vehicle alone and made her way up the walk without assistance. She could feel Marshall hovering behind her, waiting to step in should she need him. Of course, it was easier said than done, she figured, as she looked up at the six steps to her porch. She climbed them, wincing as she went, each step up sending a small jolt of pain to her chest. Her breath coming in slightly faster gasps, she reached the front door.

Marshall stepped forward and opened it for her, for which she was thankful. There was a limit to how much she pain she could hide. She took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. It felt like it had been weeks since she had been home last, but in reality it was less than 36 hours ago. Everything had changed in those hours though.

She took another deep breath, stealing herself for the confrontation that was about to go down. She wasn't planning on telling either her mother or Brandi what had actually happened, but her mother would make a huge fuss. And when Brandi found out she had dumped Raph, there would be a lot of excuses she'd have to invent. "Anybody home?"

"Mary? We're in the kitchen, honey. What are you doing home at this time of day?" Jinx voice drifted down the hallway and the partners began their trek toward the back of the house. Because of her ribs, Mary was moving slower than normal, and Marshall kept pace with her, prepared to catch her should she get another wave of dizziness.

She paused for a brief second before entering the kitchen doorway, taking just a moment to put her brave face on, the one that told anyone looking at her that they should see the other guy and that no, she didn't want to talk about it. Despite the emotions she had shown to Marshall in the last few hours, she was not ready to be that person with her family, it made it too easy for them to hurt her. They needed to think she was indestructible, so that they wouldn't try breaking her.

Marshall watched his partner, amazed at her. For years, he'd watched her go from being the mess that was Mary Shannon to being the put together U.S. Marshal that was his partner. He'd always been so amazed at her ability to morph from one to the other, especially with all the strain her real life added to her. He couldn't help the spark of pride that ran through him at her strength. A spark that grew when he saw her square her shoulders, despite the numerous injuries to her torso, which he knew were hurting more than she was letting on.

They stepped forward together. It took both her mother and her sister a moment to look up. A gasp from Jinx and a look of shock from Brandi, and then they were out of their seats at the island. They both came at Mary, fully intent on touching her. Marshall was about to intervene, ready to play the part of her protector, but he should have known better. Mary played protector just fine on her own. Before her family had made it half way across the floor, Mary had held up her one free hand, gesturing for them to stay back. "No hugging, no touching, I'm fine. It's just a little surface damage, there is no need to freak." Her tone was stern, every bit as caustic as normal, as if she hadn't spent the night in the ER.

Her sister stopped, recognizing Mary's desire to be left alone. For all Brandi's flakiness, sometimes she could be very astute. She could tell that there was more than surface damage but knew Mary well enough to let it alone. Jinx had other ideas. Always one to play the concerned mother, especially in front of company, she continued toward Mary as if she hadn't even spoken. Before Marshall could intervene, Jinx had wrapped her arms around her daughter, "Oh, my poor baby, what happened?"

Mary, not being at the top of her game and being down one arm, could not stop her mother in time. She barely heard the question her mother asked over her own cry of pain. "Damn it, Mom. I said no, what part of that didn't you hear?" The sudden increase in pain caused the words to come out without the usual gentle tone she aimed at her mother. Sometimes, Jinx's theatrics were just too much and, while normally she could ignore them and hold her tongue, it was a bit much to ask after the night she had had.

Jinx made no effort to hide the shock and pain that Mary's words had inspired. "Well, pardon me for caring. God forbid a mother be concerned when her daughter comes home looking like she got mugged."

Brandi ignored her mother. She leaned back against the island, looked her sister up and down, and said, "Jesus, Mary. Who'd you piss of this time?" While the words sounded harsh, she was genuinely concerned for her sister. She just knew their roles too well. Mary wanted to pretend that this was no big deal, Brandi could play along, if that's what her sister needed.

Mary could have hugged her sister, if it wasn't so out of character, and so sure to hurt her. Instead, she settled for one of her trademark smirks, "Jackie Chan." She watched her sister smile, biting back a laugh, but she also saw Jinx's look of disapproval. For once, she didn't care. "I'm fine. Doc says I'll be good as new in a few weeks."

Catching onto Mary's forced joviality, Brandi answered her, "Yea, as long as you stay away from ninjas for the time being." She caught her sister's eye and saw the gratitude there. Mary wouldn't tell her the truth, but Brandi knew she appreciated her not pushing.

"I'll be back in a minute." Mary said as she turned to walk down the hall, giving a Marshall a look that said stay. He figured she probably needed a few minutes alone and was counting on him to distract her family.

But as soon as Mary was gone, Jinx huffed out the back door, clearly still upset at the way Mary had spoken at her in front of company. Brandi waited for the back door to close before moving closer to Marshall. "So what really happened?"

He was mildly surprised at Brandi. He wasn't sure how she knew that there was more going on then what Mary had alluded to. And he wasn't sure why she thought he'd spill. "Nothing, just one of the bail jumpers we brought in. Mary turned him down, he took offense. No worries, he'll get what's coming to him."

Brandi heard the conviction in Marshall's voice. She knew the man was crazy for her sister, and she was also pretty sure that Mary felt the same. But there was no way she was going to get in the middle of that. "Has she seen Raph yet, because he is not going to be happy?" It was a simple question, but the look in Marshall's eyes told her everything she needed to know. She watched his jaw tense and his fists clench and suddenly something became very clear. "He did this?" She couldn't help the utter shock in her voice. She'd heard the message on the machine earlier, but she had dismissed it as some weird relationship thing. But it made a lot more sense now, "Oh my God, why?"

Marshall thought about lying, denying Brandi's accusations but he knew that Brandi and the ball player were friends. And while the chances of him getting out of jail anytime soon were slim, he didn't want to risk her getting hurt because she didn't know. Or worse, letting him into the house to wait for Mary; "Yea, he did this. Brandi, it's a long story, just don't let him in the house. On the off chance he shows up, you call the police, or me."

Brandi saw the seriousness in his eyes and all she could do was nod. "Why isn't he in jail?"

"He is; chances of him coming here are slim. I just want you to be prepared, in case." Again, Brandi nodded. And then Mary walked back into the kitchen. Marshall turned to her, anxious to be on his way. "You ready to go?"

Mary's eyes lingered on Brandi for a moment, trying to read her expression. In the end, she gave up and turned back to Marshall. "Yea, I'm ready. Listen, Squish, I'm going to be staying with Marshall for a couple days. Do you think you and mom will be alright?" She eyed her sister again.

Brandi's eyes flashed to the cut on her sister's forehead, the sling on her arm. Mary needed to take care of herself right now. Brandi was pretty sure she could manage Jinx and herself for a few. She took care to make her tone as light as possible, for her sister's benefit. "I think we can manage, you just worry about you, alright."

Mary reached out with her good hand and placed it against her sister's face, thankful that Brandi had done so much growing up recently. "Thanks, Squish, I'll call you tomorrow." She held her hand in place for a moment longer before letting it fall to her side. She turned and walked out her own front door, Marshall following with her bag now in his hands.

They made their way down the driveway and into Marshall's SUV. It was Mary's suggestion to skip the police station. It wasn't worth it; it could too easily backfire on both Bobby and her partner. The drive back to Marshall's was quiet, but fast. Despite the nap they'd taken after breakfast, they were both still tired. They decided on an early dinner and settling into Marshall's couch to just relax and enjoy each other's company.

The two partners were sitting at Marshall's table. They had just finished off the soup and sandwich dinner that Marshall had thrown together. For the first time since her encounter with Raph, Mary was relaxed. She'd faced her family and Raph was in custody. Bobby had not treated her any differently and, from what she had seen, knew better than to try. That went a long way in restoring her shaken confidence. Sitting here with Marshall was relaxing, she could definitely get used to this.

Their serene silence was shattered by a loud knock on Marshall's door. For a second, fear flew across Mary's face, before she could get a true grip on her emotions. Marshall gave her a second to recover before walking to look out the window. The front door wasn't visible, but the street was. Stan's car was easily recognizable. "It's Stan," Marshall turned to his partner.

Mary took a moment, trying to figure out what she wanted most. She'd have to face her boss sooner or later, why not just get it over with? Besides, it would be easier to do it here, in Marshall's kitchen, with him at her side, then to wait till they went into the office. Because at work, she'd have to face Stan alone, Marshall would have real things to take care of. Since he had played hookie with her today, tomorrow he would be playing catch up, doing twice the work because she was out. So why put this off any longer than necessary. Besides, there was no way she was going to let what Raph had done dictate her life anymore than it already had. "I might as well get this over and done with."

Marshall nodded and made his way down the hallway. Against his better judgment, Marshall opened the door to admit Stan. He knew what Mary meant. She wanted to get this whole thing out of the way, so that she could move on. The sooner everything was out, or as out as it was getting, the sooner she could relax. As long as this hovered over her head, she would feel like Raph still had control over her. But while she was worried about her control, he was worried about the rest of her. Stan was probably the only other person who could come close to knowing Mary as well as Marshall himself did. But it wasn't close enough. Still, Marshall trusted his boss and knew he would never do anything to intentionally hurt Mary. Unfortunately, Marshall was the only one who was able to see just how thin Mary's armor could be in some places.

"I thought you weren't going to let me in for a minute." A small smile played across Stan's face. But it was only there for a moment, before he got straight to business. "Now, why don't you tell me what was so important that both my inspectors needed the day off?" There was still a slight trace of humor in his voice. Stan watched Marshall's reaction to his question. Instead of the usual joviality behind Marshall's eyes, there was anger. His jaw was set. Whatever had happened, Marshall did not find it in the least bit amusing; Stan was beginning to like this less and less.

Marshall took a minute to compose himself, to make sure his voice came out even. "Alright, Stan, come on, we're through here," he waved his hand, inviting Stan to follow him into the kitchen. The next sentence he uttered quieter, more to himself, "Just remember, you asked for this." He arrived in the kitchen well ahead of Stan, who had been stunned by Marshall's tone, and immediately made his way to stand beside Mary. Whether she asked for it or not, he wanted her to feel his silent support, to know she wasn't alone.

Stan spoke again as he made his way down the hall, "We? So Mary's here as well? I guess I should have…" But Stan's voice trailed off as soon as he entered the kitchen, as soon as his eyes fell on Mary.

Mary sat still. She hated the look she saw on Stan's face, one of shock and pity. Unfortunately, she had been seeing it all too often lately. After she'd come out of that damn basement, he'd looked at her that way. Technically, she knew she couldn't blame him. She'd looked like hell that night. And tonight, she looked worse. The cuts on her face, each partially covered with butterfly stitches, were a purple hue, tinged with red at the wounds themselves. She'd taken her sling off to make eating easier, and her wrist was more swollen now then it had been the night before. And he couldn't even see the damage done to her side.

Tired of being ogled, no matter her current state, Mary spoke up. "I'm fine, Stan. Nothing to worry about, I'll be good to go in no time."

Stan's eyes narrowed, he knew that voice. It was Mary's sugar coated voice, the one she used when she was trying to avoid trouble or, as in this case, questions. His gaze moved to Marshall, hoping that today would be one of those rare occasions where he decided to play translator, instead of backup.

Marshall rolled his eyes at Mary's words. She had every intention of telling him the truth, but that was only if he asked. Until then, she would volunteer no information. So Marshall decided to save them all some trouble and time. "I'm not sure I agree with everything she just said, but she will be all right, eventually."

A million questions were racing through Stan's head. He went with the most important first, "Define 'all right.'"

Stan wanted the list, Marshall obliged. "The wrist is fractured, the cuts are superficial, two cracked ribs, and a third one broken. That's where the 'eventually' part comes in." He listed the injuries as if they were not a big deal, as if each one were not part of his own personal nightmares.

Stan took that in. For the most part, his people could handle themselves. Not counting Mary's abduction, which she had escaped from relatively unscathed, physically at least, and Marshall's gunshot wound, he couldn't remember the last real injury sustained on the clock. But whatever had happened to Mary, she hadn't been working. And Stan wanted to know exactly what she had been doing. "What happened?"

Marshall watched Mary, giving her a chance to answer, should she so choose. He was about to speak for her, when he heard her voice. He was proud of her. "I went over Raphael's last night, we kind of got into it. Like I said though, I'm fine. Everything has been taken care of."

For a brief second, Stan worried that she might have killed him. But he had seen the look in her eyes after she had killed her would be rapist, she wouldn't have killed her boyfriend unless she had no other choice. "Taken care of how?"

Marshall interjected this time, "Dershawitz arrested him this morning, he's in lockup."

Stan accepted that news and took a moment to look Mary over. The cop part of his brain began cataloguing and analyzing her wounds. "Either of you want to explain exactly what you did to push him to this?" He saw the error in his words the moment the question was out of his mouth. Mary stiffened, rage evident in her eyes. Marshall, too had stiffened with anger.

Mary stuttered out her reply, "What I did? What the hell does that mean, Stan? Why is it automatically something I did? You see this, bruised face and broken ribs, and I'm the one at fault here? Screw this." Mary stood up and swept out of the room, retreating to the back of the house and Marshall's office. She had let her anger at the situation get the better of her. She hadn't planned to snap at her boss, but his words had hit exactly the wrong spot. Because this would all be a lot easier to bear if she had deserved it, if she had mouthed off to Raph or thrown the first punch. But she hadn't, and she had been thoroughly beat.

Back in the kitchen, Marshall watched Mary go before turning on Stan. "What the hell, Stan? You see Mary looking like she just took on Rocky Balboa, we tell you Raph's been arrested, and you still somehow assume this is her fault? Is there anything she could have done to deserve ending up like that?" Anger hung on his words.

Stan tried to backtrack. "That wasn't how I meant it, Marshall. I only wanted to know what happened. She said they got into it. We both know Mary, I just assumed that…" He trailed off. He did know Mary. She was fierce and bold and rarely followed the rules, but her favorite weapon was her tongue, not her fists. Sure, she was more than likely to lash out with a caustic word or two, but he couldn't imagine her saying anything that would warrant that kind of punishment.

Marshall leaned forward to fill in Stan's silence, his voice a harsh whisper, as if saying the words too loudly would hurt Mary more. "She went over there last night to get some sleep. That jackass roughed her up because she said no." He left it at that, watching Stan's face as he understood the full impact of those words.

And Stan did get it. He'd read Mary's report on her time in the basement, she'd been literally moments away from rape when she had fired her weapon. To find herself in another situation where sex might be forced onto her, especially so soon, no wonder she had snapped at him. It was a tremendous woman who could retain her backbone after everything Mary had been through. "Damn. She's alright though?" Stan didn't want to hear if it was otherwise, but he had to know.

Marshall's eyes trailed down the hallway, following the path his partner had taken. It took a moment before he turned to Stan, "She will be. The ribs are going to keep her out of the field for a while, but other than that..." He let it hang. Physically, the cuts on her face would heal by week's end and wouldn't really impact her working at all. The wrist, while inconvenient, was not debilitating in the least. She was almost as good a shot lefty as she was normally. The ribs would be painful for the next few weeks, but he knew she would stubbornly insist that sitting in a chair behind her desk would be just as relaxing as sitting on a couch. Emotionally, he knew it would take a little longer for her to stop jumping at every sound. This hadn't been as bad as being locked in that basement, but it definitely wouldn't help her trust issues any.

Stan nodded as Marshall explained. When he had finished, Stan moved toward the hallway. "I'm going to go apologize, better to be reamed out now then let her brood on it for days." Marshall chuckled as Stan disappeared down the hall. He knew Stan hadn't meant to insinuate Mary deserved what happened. Stan wouldn't wish pain on Mary any more than Marshall would himself.

Stan found his marshal in the home office that her partner had set up. She was sitting in the computer chair, staring off into space, "Mary?" He didn't miss her jump. Clearly what had happened had shaken her up at least a little.

She turned around to face her boss. She had expected him to follow, to apologize, Marshall would have set him straight. She tried to school her face, to hide the slight trace of fear his sudden appearance had brought on, and to hide the pain from both her injuries and his assumptions. "What's up, Stan?"

Stan walked over and leaned against the desk. The lighting was dim, so her injuries did not stand out as much, but Stan couldn't help his gaze landing on the cuts on her face. "I wanted to…"

Mary cut him off. She had had a long day, full of emotion and her world being flipped upside down. "It's alright, Stan, I know. It usually is my fault."

Stan was amazed that Mary hadn't made him beg for forgiveness, he'd been ready to do it. "No, it's not." The sincerity of his tone brought her eyes up to meet his. "Short of castrating the man in his sleep, there's nothing you could have done that would warrant him laying his hands on you. I'm just not used to seeing you coming off the worse for wear. Normally, when the dust clears, you're the one standing, waiting to claim victory. I don't like to think there's a guy out there who can do this to you just because he can."

Stan's words touched her. "I don't like thinking that either. But in my defense, it kind of took me by surprise. If anyone else had done that, I would have been able to recover. But the swing I threw was purely by instinct, and his second knocked me out. I didn't have a chance to fight back."

Her words reassured him even as they pissed him off. She hadn't failed in defending herself, she'd been taken by surprise and not had a chance. "Well, don't worry about him. I'll be making sure he has plenty of time to learn what happens to a man who takes a swing at a girl."

Mary smirked. "Marshall offered to hold him down for me." She watched as her boss contemplated the thought, though she couldn't tell if he was evaluating the ramifications or the justice of it. "I turned him down. I'd just as soon never see the ass again."

"Done." Stan held a hand out, which Mary accepted. He pulled her to her feet. "You sure you're all right?"

Mary nodded again. "Yea, Stan. Marshall took good care of me."

"He usually does." Stan had seen few partners as close as his own two marshals. "He insinuated you'd be in the office tomorrow?"

"I can't afford to be out again, not after the Spanky ordeal. Besides, I can monitor my and Marshall's less pressing witnesses from behind my desk, while he deals with our more pressing cases." When she saw that he might argue, she continued. "Stan, don't punish me for this."

If she was anyone else, Stan would say she was pleading. "Fine, you can come in tomorrow. But you're in the office at least until that wrist heals. Then we'll take a trip to the range to see if you can handle being in the field with those ribs." He saw the glint in her eyes. Normally, an agent would be out at least 3 months for a broken rib. But Stan knew Mary would be willing to work through any pain she had. Once the wrist was healed, her ribs would have had a chance to begin healing. Promising her an early return to the field would be the best way to keep her on her best behavior. If she thought she could get back in the game once her wrist was healed, she'd take care of herself until then to make sure it happened.

The gratitude in her voice was genuine, "Thank you, Stan."

Stan rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well, it's not like I have much choice. But you get to be the one to tell your partner." He couldn't help returning the smile that spread across her face. He had a feeling she would enjoy telling Marshall she wasn't being forced to stay home, where as he would rather be well on his way home when the news was revealed. "Get some sleep tonight, and I'll see you two in the office at ten." He put a hand on her shoulder, "How about from now on, you stay out of trouble, huh? I'm beginning to get grey hair worrying about you."

Mary read the affection in his eyes, and she didn't get offended by his words. She knew that both Stan and Marshall worried about her, all the time, even though they knew she could take care of herself. They cared about her and seeing her in pain was hard for them. She couldn't ask for better friends than the two of them. She smiled as she answered him, "I promise, Stan, from tonight on, I won't do any of that dangerous stuff that gets me in trouble. Ya know, like walking out of my house or trying to get any sleep." There was only a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. They both knew that neither tonight, nor her kidnapping, had been her fault, merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Stan shook his head as he left the office. She heard him wish Marshall luck and a good night as he left. She didn't have long to wait until her partner joined her. "Everything okay?"

Marshall walked toward her as he answered, "Yea, I set him straight. You all right?"

She sent him a genuine smile, "Boss says I can come in tomorrow." Marshall's only response was to roll his eyes while pulling her into his arms. "Guess that means you've been over ruled."

Marshall shook his head in mock astonishment, "And in my own house no less. What is the world coming too?" She wrapped her good arm around his waist and leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She felt him place his chin on top of her head. "What do you say we get some sleep?"

"I think that's the best idea you've had all day." They walked slowly toward his bedroom. Marshall helped Mary to switch into Pajama bottoms and a tank top. While she slipped into the bed, he changed himself. He climbed in bed next to her, careful to slip in beside her so that he could pull her close. She laid her head on Marshall's chest, her hand resting over his heart. "I could get used to this."

Marshall rubbed his hand up and down her back, "I'm planning on it. Goodnight, sweetheart."

She chuckled at his sappy remark. "Lord, don't tell me you're one of those sappy types. I will not be reduced to ridiculous terms of endearment."

"I'd never dream of it." He placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Good, because I'd hate to have to teach you a lesson," Her voice was heavy with sleep.

"As if you could," Her breathing had evened out, so he didn't expect a response. But he got one anyway.

"As soon as my ribs are healed I'm going to kick your ass, doofus."

Marshall's only answer was to chuckle softly. As far as he was concerned, she could call him whatever she wanted, as long as he could call her his.


End file.
